Page 67 of Friend

Human customs were so different.

“Although—” Bianca started as she watched me with a pointed look. “—I’m not sure what the real issue is that you have with my pajamas—”

Besides the modesty factor, which I’d already explained—because she remained oblivious to the fact that her quintet couldn’t stop staring at her—there was also, “I don’t hate all of your pajamas.”

Bianca opened her mouth to argue, then closed it, and I could see that she was thinking over my words. “Okay…” she said, contemplative. “Then why?”

“Because some of them are…” Offensive. “Interesting fabric choices.”

A flicker of offense moved through her gaze. “You don’t like the style?”

“Fabric,” I corrected. “The lace.”

Actually, I thought she had excellent style. But how could anyone want to clothe her in a garment that might cause her to itch? What kind of heathen would allow her to traipse about in such a travesty?

“Oh.” She bit her lip. “But I like it.”

“Does it itch?” I asked. How could she evensleepin it? It had to be annoying.

“Well, yes,” she said slowly. “But that’s what most lace is like.”

I stared at her—the sacrilegious words replaying in my head. But there was one saving grace to her statement:mostlace.

At least she knew there were other options on the market.

“Finish your ice cream.” I took a final drink from my coffee. “You’re getting new pajamas.”

Bianca half-pouted in response. “No,” she protested. “Mine are fine.”

And I’m broke.

I could see the argument in her stubborn, tense posture, and I fought the urge to take out my wallet and throw my credit card in her face. Sometimes, even as cute as she was, I wanted to strangle her. “We’re getting near the end of the semester. I need help grading papers.”

She sat up straighter, palms pressed against the top of the table, and I could see that my offer interested her. “But I’m not a teacher.”

“Neither am I,” I told her. However, seeing as though Aine Hamway was indefinitely being apprehended by the council for questioning, I was stuck playing the role.

I would much rather be finishing my doctorate in peace than dealing with this lecturing nonsense.

“You know more than most of the other first-year students anyway,” I added. When she first came into my class—in an abundance of caution—I pulled up her academic records.

Just to make sure she wasn’t a threat.

If she wasn’t so obsessed with solving crime and getting into trouble, I believed she’d have made an excellent addition to my research team.

“And there’s an answer sheet,” I threw in. She wouldn’t turn this down.

And, as expected, she didn’t. Just so long as there was an exchange of services or goods somewhere, there would be no reason why she wouldn’t accept.

It was only dangerous for a fae to be gifted something and not know what was expected in return.

“Okay.” She picked up her spoon, rushing through the rest of her dessert. “It’s a deal.”